


To Catch a Thief

by hilandmum



Category: Rosemary and Thyme
Genre: Case Fic, Misses Clause Challenge, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 12:06:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17022312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hilandmum/pseuds/hilandmum
Summary: Laura and Rosemary decide to do a garden tour in Paris, but sadly, it's not to be





	To Catch a Thief

**Author's Note:**

  * For [someitems](https://archiveofourown.org/users/someitems/gifts).



Rosemary and Laura sat side by side on lounge chairs, each with a catalogue of plants and seeds. It was a lovely day for a change, as the spring rains seemed to have let up for a bit.

“Look at this,” Laura shoved her magazine under Rosemary’s nose. “A tour for professional gardeners through the Tuileries Gardens, with a side trip to Versailles.”

“It also said the sign-up deadline is May sixteenth.”

Laura nodded. “That’s today. I’m going inside to ring them up and ask whether there are two places left.”

“Who said I wanted to go?” Rosemary went back to her own reading matter.

“Oh, but I thought you always wanted to go to Paris,” Laura gushed. “We don’t have any jobs lined up for the next fortnight.”

“I suppose we’d travel through the chunnel. Does it say how much the trip is?”

“It’s a four day trip starting week from tomorrow and costs a thousand pounds, including transportation and hotels.” Laura put the catalogue down and smiled at her friend. “Oh, let’s do it.”

Rosemary sighed. “If there are still spaces.” Once Laura got an idea, there was no stopping her. 

Minutes later, Laura returned, beaming. “We’re in. Oh, Rosemary, think. French gardens that we didn’t have to plant, but just have to admire.”

“I’m warming to the idea, I suppose.” Rosemary’s mouth quirked.

***

The days running up to their trip went quickly. The next Wednesday found them standing on the platform at St. Pancras, wheeled suitcases stuffed with clothing and toiletries. The tour group consisted of twelve all together, all but two women.

“I should have left space in my suitcase for souvenirs.” Laura eyed the luggage of their traveling companions, none bulging like hers.

“I doubt they’d let us bring back any seeds, although they’d be small enough to fit in the front pouch of my bag.” Rosemary pulled her sweater closed against the wind. 

“Are you Mrs. Boxer and Mrs. Thyme?” A tall, thin man in a uniform asked. “I’m your tour guide, Alphonse Manet. Like the artist although I’m not related.” His French accent was clearly understandable. It sounded like a well-rehearsed opening line. But he hardly looked like a tour guide. His dark hair had receded from his forehead and his long nose looked as if it had been broken at one time.

“Bet you use that line on all the ladies,” Laura said. 

Ignoring her, Manet continued, checking a paper in his hand. “On the train you will share a compartment with Mr. and Mrs. Houghten, Mrs. Demming and myself. In only a few hours we will reach the Gare du Nord.”

They boarded and found their compartment. The only man in the group, besides M. Manet, sat beside a woman with frizzy red hair. 

“I’m Bertrand Houghten and my wife is Elthea, but she’s always called Elsie, aren’t you my dear?” He smoothed the left side of his mustache as he smiled.

“Rosemary Boxer, and my friend is Laura Thyme.” She extended her slim hand, but couldn’t help adding, “She’s called Laura.”

They shook hands all around, and Rosemary and Laura took seats as a tall stout woman poked her head in. “Is this where I’m supposed to be? Mrs. Demming, that’s me.”

“Yes, I believe so,” Rosemary moved closer to Laura to make room, and the introductions and handshakes began all over again.

M. Manet hadn’t arrived before the train pulled out of the station.

“Isn’t this exciting,” gushed Elsie. “My first time on the continent. Have you been?”

Rosemary and Laura nodded rather than get into their time on the French Riviera or in Italy or Spain. 

“It’s our thirty-fifth anniversary, and Bertie here insisted we take this trip to celebrate.” Elsie giggled. “Paris is the city of love, you know.”

“Kill me now.” Rosemary muttered under her breath. 

“Be civil,” Laura said out the side of her mouth.

Bertie and Elsie filled the three hours with inane chatter. Laura fell asleep, her head falling to Rosemary’s shoulder, but when she woke she asked, “Hasn’t M. Manet come yet?”

Rosemary shook her head. “That’s odd. He specifically told us he’d be in this cabin.”

“Is the rest of the group in the next compartment?” Laura asked, but didn’t expect any of the others knew.

Rosemary popped up. “I’ll go see if he’s there.”

Laura nodded her agreement.

The train’s rumble was more apparent in the corridor. Rosemary walked the few feet to the door of the next compartment and peered inside before opening the door. M. Manet wasn’t there, but she asked the six women who’d looked at her with a mixture of surprise and curiosity, “Have any of you seen M. Manet?”

“Who?” a small woman in a bright pink jumper asked.

“You know, the guide for this jaunt.” Rosemary pressed her lips together.

Six heads shook back and forth. 

“Well, that’s odd. He’s not with us.” She looked over her shoulder at the door. “We’ll be in Paris soon. I’m sure he’ll turn up.”

Rosemary returned to her compartment. The train pulled into the station fifteen minutes later. The tour group gathered on the platform after they left the train, but M. Manet never appeared.

“What do we do now?” Bertie Houghton asked. 

“There must be a car or van waiting to take us to our hotel.” Laura pulled out the tour brochure. “The Nouveau Chateau.” She refrained from commenting on the name.

“We shouldn’t go there without our guide,” the woman in the pink jumper said.

“I’ll see if I can find our driver.” Laura scanned the crowds, then started forward. “He might know how to contact M. Manet, or at least have instructions about what to do with us.”

Meanwhile, somewhat unconcerned, a few members of the group chatted amiably. Watching for Laura’s return but curious about the others, Rosemary joined in. A few had been to the continent before, but for most this was the first time. Bertie and Elsie kept to themselves, but Mrs. Demming turned out to be the friendly type, knowing the right things to say and the right questions to ask to get people to relax and talk. Rosemary smiled.

Laura finally returned with a chap in a chauffeur’s cap shading his thin mustache. “Folks, this is Andre. He’ll take us to the hotel where, he assured me, our guide’s location will be sorted out.”

The minibus filled with the tour group, and Andre set off from the train station. He took them to a building squeezed between two others not far from the Louvre. The painted sign over the entrance was marked, “Nouveau Chateau,” but it was as far from a chateau as a modest home was from Buckingham Palace. 

A pretty but frazzled dark-haired woman stood at the registration desk. Rosemary took the lead, telling her they were the tour group M. Manet was supposed to lead.

“He is not with you?” the woman looked taken aback.

“I’m afraid he may have missed the train.” Rosemary checked her nametag. “None of us saw him once we left the station, Miss Pentierre.”

“Mon, Dieu.” She shuffled papers, found a list of tour attendees, and picked up the phone. In rapid French, she explained the situation to someone. Rosemary understood about half of what she said, but the conclusion was she was asking for instructions about what to do with them. She listened then said, “Bien sur,” and hung up. “They will send another guide in the morning. Meanwhile, you have rooms reserved. I will call names.”

She went through the list, handing out room keys that were surprisingly modern ones to use with card readers. “The lift is to the right.”

There was no bellman, so they each grabbed a piece of luggage and proceeded to the lift. Only half of them could fit in at a time. 

Rosemary and Laura’s room was on the third floor. It was a decent size room with two single beds, a dresser holding a small TV, a desk and a chair. The en suite bathroom was standard. They each chose a bed by plopping their suitcase on it. 

“Isn’t it strange that many of the people in our group aren’t concerned about M. Manet’s whereabouts?” Laura asked.

“They’re likely thinking about what might happen to their money if the tour is canceled. As it is we’re missing this afternoon’s excursion.”

“Nothing to stop us from going on our own.”

“Just what I was thinking.” Rosemary exchanged her cardigan for one of her fair isle vests.

“Let me just tidy up and I’ll be ready to go.”

Soon they were both prepared to head out and explore. They stopped at the registration desk, and Laura asked, “Do you have a map?” 

The helpful concierge from before had been replaced by a man who looked at them through narrowed eyes. “S’il vous plait?”

Rosemary repeated the request in French and he produced a sketch of the nearby area far from scale.

Laura frowned when she looked at it. “Might as well use the mapping program on my phone.”

As they walked to the front door, Mrs. Demming called to them, “I say, are you playing tourist without our guide?”

“I didn’t think it was against any rules,” Laura replied.

She was trailed by the woman in the pink jumper. “Oh, we don’t want to stop you, only to go with.” She smiled one of those insipid smiles that make anyone seeing them cringe.

“We were supposed to spend our first day at the Louvre.” Rosemary looked at the nearest street sign. “According to the GPS on my phone we go that way. It’s not far.” She pointed to the right, then she and Laura led the way.

“I don’t care if they come with us, nor do I care if we lose them in the museum,” Laura whispered to Rosemary.

Rosemary chuckled. “If we were with the entire tour group, it could be worse. Mr. Houghton would keep up a running commentary, with his wife murmuring, ‘yes, dear,’ periodically.”

After several city streets they reached the Champs Elysée. Rosemary smiled. “I know the way from here.” 

Before long they stood in front of the glass pyramid that had been erected in the forecourt of the museum. They spent two hours inside the Louvre, going from gallery to gallery, but when they left, Rosemary, Laura and Mrs. Demming, first name Deborah, realized simultaneously that the other woman wasn’t with them.

“Be careful what you wish for,” Rosemary said.

“Oh, dear.” Deborah ignored her. “I hope she’ll be able to find her way back to the hotel.”

“You know, we never even learned her name.” Laura scanned the mobs of tourists nearby, hoping for a sign of the yellow-haired woman.

“She’s called Penelope Walters,” Deborah said. “I’m sharing a room with her.”

Rosemary checked the time. “We should each look for her in a different gallery and then meet back here in, say, fifteen minutes. That’d be half three.”

They endured a bit of an argument with the guard at the entrance, but he finally acknowledged they’d been inside before and were only looking for their companion. They each ran off in a different direction. Rosemary paused when she came to the Mona Lisa. She smiled and breathed in deep, then continued her search. When she met the others, though, no one had found the missing woman.

“Perhaps she returned to the hotel without us,” Deborah said hopefully.

Rosemary didn’t think so, but didn’t say, but she exchanged frowns with Laura. They rushed back to the hotel, where Laura asked the English-speaking first concierge, “Miss Pentierre, have you seen Penelope Walters?”

“No, Madame. Miss Walters has not come in since I am here.”

“And Alphonse Manet?”

She shook her head.

“What about our new tour guide?” Rosemary asked.

“He will be here in the morning. He has another group today.”

“Thank you.”

They went up to their floor. As they left the lift, Deborah said, “I’ll ring you if she’s in our room. Otherwise, I don’t know what to do. She’s not my responsibility, but I feel I should do something.”

“It’s time we reported these disappearances to the police,” Laura said. “The police municipale, I suppose.”

Once they were in their room, Rosemary asked, “Do you have any contacts in the French police?”

“No, but my son might.” Laura was already selecting his number on her phone. “Hello, Matthew. Rosemary and I find ourselves in need of a contact in the Paris police force.” She put the phone on speaker so Laura could hear.

“What have you two gotten yourselves into this time?” Matthew Thyme chuckled. “Afraid I don’t know anyone over there.”

“Oh, well, it was just a thought. We seem to have lost our tour guide and one of the group.”

Matthew laughed again. “They’ll turn up. In the meantime, enjoy your stay.”

“Right. I’ll ring you when we’re home and tell you all about it.” Laura ended the call with a frown on her face.

“I have an idea,” Rosemary said. “Don’t know why we didn’t think of it sooner. We need to call the tour company.”

“Yes. After all, M. Manet is on their staff. They should be looking for him.” Laura looked through the brochure for the tour and finally found the contact information for the company. With pursed lips, she punched in the phone number. 

It rang five times before a woman replied. “Kensington tours. Anna Ferguson speaking.” A nice, lilting English voice.

“Miss Ferguson, this is Laura Thyme. I’m on your French Gardens tour, and I’m afraid we’ve lost our tour guide as well as one of the women tourists.” Laura made sure the phone was on speaker.

“Let me see. Claude Bouvier was scheduled to lead your group. You say he isn’t there?”

“Bouvier, did you say? Our guide introduced himself as M. Alphonse Manet. And our hotel called to let your firm know so you could send another guide.” Laura began doodling on her brochure, jotting down the names Claude Bouvier and Alphonse Manet. Was a third person missing?

Confusion filled Miss Ferguson’s voice. “There is no M. Manet on our staff. And I never received a call.”

“The Nouveau Chateau, is that right?” Laura asked.

“Well, yes, that’s the hotel.” Miss Ferguson rustled papers. “We had a cancellation at the last minute for that tour. A Miss Thompson, Etta Thompson. So there should be ten of you.”

Laura scribbled Penelope Walters on her list. “Is a Penelope Walters in our group?”

“Why do you ask?” 

“Because she came over with us, but she’s also missing.” Laura remembered that Manet knew she was part of the group.

“Well, she’s not on our roster for your tour or any other.”

Rosemary mouthed, “What is going on?”

“Miss Ferguson, I’m going to talk to the concierge and find out whom she talked to from your company. I may call you back so you can speak with her.”

“This is very perplexing. While you talk with the hotel personnel, I’ll locate M. Bouvier.”

“Good. I’ll be speaking with you.” Once more Laura ended her call. 

“The concierge next?” Rosemary asked. 

“I think first we should discuss what we know with our new friend, Deborah.”

Rosemary smiled. “Yes, she can tell us more about our missing tourist.”

“I have a feeling she knows more than that,” Laura added.

They knocked on Deborah’s door. “Just a second,” she called, but it was almost two minutes before she opened the door. Laura wondered what she’d been hiding.

“We’ve spoken to the agency that runs the tour. They have no M. Manet on their staff.” Laura watched for Deborah’s reaction. 

She merely nodded, her mouth pursed.

“And your roommate wasn’t on the roster for any tour,” Rosemary added.

Deborah didn’t appear surprised by that either. She sighed. “I joined the tour to keep an eye on her. Luckily someone had canceled.”

“I imagine she’s a known criminal.” Laura glanced at Rosemary then back to Deborah.

“And you’re a former constable, I understand.” Deborah smiled. “We should work together on this case.” She turned to Rosemary. “I don’t know how a former professor can help, but I expect you come as a package deal.”

“We’ve been known to solve crimes in the past,” Rosemary said.

Deborah held out a hand. “Inspector Deborah Carter-Evans of Interpol.”

“What happened to Demming?” Laura asked.

Deborah shrugged. “A name I use on occasion. Now, you want to know about Manet and Walters. She stole a cache of jewels from the Earl of Harwich. It seems she had an accomplice. We were afraid they’d take their loot to the continent where they could sell everything and then settle on the Riviera.”

Laura smiled. “And they thought that joining a group of gardening enthusiasts heading for Paris they’d be able to evade the police.”

“Exactly.”

“What about Bouvier?” Rosemary asked.

“Who?” Deborah asked.

“The original tour leader,” she supplied.

Laura grimaced. “I wouldn’t be surprised if his body doesn’t turn up along the Thames estuary. And Manet?”

“He either came across the Channel with the group and then disappeared or was murdered by his accomplice.” Deborah reached for a hotel pad and wrote her own notes.

“Are any of Penelope’s belongings still here?” Laura asked.

Deborah nodded. “I was going through them when you knocked at my door.”

“But you didn’t find anything that would point us in her direction, did you?”

“Correct.”

“We plan to ask the concierge about the phone call she made yesterday, since it obviously wasn’t to the tour company in London.” Laura turned to the door.

Rosemary opened it. “We’ll let you know what we learn.”

“Wait. I’ll come with you.”

The three women took the lift to the ground floor. The English-speaking concierge finished talking to two women from their tour group and turned to them. “Have you found Miss Walters?”

“No, not yet.” Laura didn’t waste time. “We called the tour company and they said they hadn’t spoken with you. They knew nothing about our dilemma.”

“But I rang them. Yesterday. When you arrived without your guide.” The woman looked confused. 

Laura whipped out her phone and called the agency. “Miss Ferguson, this is Laura Thyme again. I have the concierge of the Nouveau Chateau here. Hold on, and she can tell who she spoke to yesterday.”

“Allo? Is this Kensington Tours? Here is Nicole Pentierre, the concierge of Nouveau Chateau.”

“Good afternoon, Miss Pentierre. I understand you spoke to someone from our office yesterday.”

“Mais, oui. I spoke to M. Hubert. Is that not right?” Pentierre bit her lip and narrowed her eyes.

“Ah, I see. You called the Paris office to report that M. Manet was missing.”

“Oui, M. Hubert, he promised he would send another guide tomorrow.”

“That explains the situation.” Ferguson sighed. “What did he say about M. Manet?”

“Seulement, only, that he thought the tour would be led by M. Bouvier. I have met him before, so I thought the tour members might be mistaken about the guide’s name.”

“May I please speak with Mrs. Thyme again?”

The concierge returned Laura’s phone to her. “We weren’t mistaken. The man we met at the station in London said his name was Manet.”

“What did he look like?”

“He was tall and thin, and wore a uniform with the name of your company stitched on the front pocket.” She looked to Rosemary and Deborah for confirmation. “Receding dark hair and eyes, narrow face and a longish nose.”

“Bouvier is heavy-set but otherwise fits your description. I hardly think he lost two stone in a week.”

Deborah spoke up, “Mrs. Demming here. Please notify the London police to search for Bouvier. Give them a photo if you have one.”

“Of course. We photograph all of our employees.” She was definitely disturbed by then.

“We’ll work with the local police,” Deborah said. “They can look for Penelope Walters.” When the call ended, the concierge asked if we wished her to call the police municipale.

Deborah seemed to debate the need. “Her disappearance should be reported.”

We walked away from the desk while Miss Pentierre made the call.

“You’re not going to wait for the police, are you?” Rosemary asked Deborah.

She shook her head. “I suppose I can’t convince you to just be tourists while we wait for our new guide.”

“If you’re going after Penelope, we’re going with you.” Laura crossed her arms.

“It might be dangerous,” Deborah warned. “I believe she’s killed at least once.”

“We’ve faced danger before.” Rosemary smiled. “And yet, here we are.”

Deborah chuckled. “What are we waiting for?”

They glanced at Miss Pentierre, who was still talking on the phone then left the hotel. 

“Where would she go?” Laura looked right then left.

Rosemary raised her eyebrows. “More important, where would she hide the loot?”

“Her sister has a flat just off the Seine on one of those little streets.” Deborah consulted a small notebook and then her phone. “It’s this way. We can find out if Charlotte has seen her sister.”

They walked toward the river then along across from the embankment looking for the right street, Rue Lorraine. 

“Not all the streets are marked,” Laura said.

“But the GPS on my phone is quite accurate.” Deborah pointed down a narrow lane. They turn into it. The buildings on either side shadowed the street. “We’re looking for number eighty-one.”

Rosemary pointed to a plaque on the wall next to the door. “This one’s sixty-four and they seem to be going up.”

Laura ranged ahead. “Here it is, number eighty-one. What’s Charlotte’s surname? There’s no Walters listed.”

Deborah took out her book to confirm, “It’s Charlotte Phillippe.”

“Yes, here it is. Third floor.” Laura rubbed her calf. “I’m not looking forward to climbing those stairs. Shall I ring?” Her finger hesitated over the button beside the name.

“Go ahead,” Deborah said.

In response to the button, a tinny voice came to them. “Yes?”

“Mrs. Phillippe?”

“Yes, and who are you?” A British voice answered, as they expected.

“Interpol,” Deborah said. “We’d like to talk to you about your sister.”

“That thief! She stole everything from me. Anyway I can help you incarcerate her, I will. Come on up.”

A buzzer sounded and the door opened. Inside, they were happy to find a lift, and took it up to Charlotte’s floor. She stood in her entryway, waiting for them with the door open.

“How do you do? I’m Deborah Carter-Evans, and these are Constable Laura Thyme and Professor Rosemary Boxer.”

“What has Penelope done now?” Charlotte asked.

“She’s stolen a cache of jewels.”

“I’m not surprised. She stole my money, my few jewels, AND my husband.” Charlotte’s anger filled her voice. The scowl on her face said everything they needed to know about her feelings toward her sister.

“Do you know any place in Paris where she might hide?” Laura asked.

“No.”

“You say she stole your husband…” Rosemary let it hang.

“Pierre Phillippe. I suppose they’re right in saying not to trust someone with two first names.” Charlotte’s mouth twisted into a snarl, but then relaxed. “Please, sit.” She indicated chairs in the living room in front of them. The furniture was worn but well cared for. 

Once everyone was seated, Rosemary asked, “Can you describe him?”

“Pierre? Tall, thin.”

“With a receding hairline and broken nose?” Laura asked. 

“How did you know? Is he with Penelope?”

Laura smiled. “He’s going by the name of Manet these days.”

Charlotte nodded. “His favorite painter.” She paused. “I don’t know where Penelope might be but Pierre had a loft, a grenier across the river in the Latin Quarter.”

She gave them the address, and they were on their way, promising to let her know when we found them. 

They crossed the river and made their way through the crowded streets of the left bank until they reached the building. Deborah’s phone buzzed. She walked away to answer it. 

“He probably has a great view of Sacre Coeur from up there.” Rosemary pointed to the large windows at the top of the building. 

When Deborah returned to them, she was frowning. “The Kent constabulary found Claude Bouvier’s body. He was stabbed three times, once each in the neck, chest and stomach.”

“Most likely by Pierre Phillippe or Penelope Walters.” Laura looked up at the building in front of them. 

The door, like Charlotte’s, required a resident to let them in, so they waited until someone who lived there came along, carrying a bag of groceries, and snuck in behind her. She gave them a puzzled look, but didn’t say anything, although they were ready with a story about wanting to surprise the folks who lived on the top floor.

The lift, another old-fashioned one meaning it was actually a cage that ran up and down the center of the building, took them to the loft. They stood at the closed door and listened. Voices came from inside, angry voices, arguing at full volume.

After glancing at Laura and Rosemary, Deborah rapped at the door. “Open up, police.” She repeated it in French. 

The shouting stopped, replaced by a few whispers, but the door remained shut. 

“It’s not a very solid door,” Rosemary said. 

“Right.” Laura put her shoulder to it, and Deborah joined her. Together they crashed through the door to find Penelope standing over Pierre with a large knife in her hand.

“Don’t come any closer,” she said.

“What’ll you do? Kill your partner like you killed Claude Bouvier?” Deborah stepped closer.

“Get back, I say!” Penelope waved the knife in the air. “I can do a lot of damage to you.”

“All for a few baubles?” Laura asked.

“You three can’t stop me. I’m taking these and leaving.” Penelope began circling toward the door. But Laura stood in her way, and Rosemary moved closer.

The Penelope jabbed the knife at Laura. “Out of my way, unless you want to suffer the tour guide’s fate.”

“I don’t think so.” Laura reached out a hand and grabbed Penelope’s wrist, forcing her to drop the knife.

She sobbed, “We were home free. Why’d you have to spoil it?”

Deborah produced a pair of handcuffs. “Penelope Walters, I am arresting you for the murder of Claude Bouvier and resisting arrest.”

“You’re English. You can’t do that here.” Penelope said.

“I’m Interpol. Of course I can.” Deborah smiled.

***

Once Penelope and Pierre were remanded to the police, the three women returned to the hotel. 

“Good news,” Miss Pentierre said. “Your tour company has arranged to extend your stay so you will be able to enjoy your full tour.”

None of them replied. They took the lift to the third floor.

“Now we can finally tour the French gardens of the Tuileries and Versailles,” Rosemary said when they were alone in their room.

Laura shook her head. “Frankly, I’ve had enough of Paris for this trip. What say we go home?”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this case fic even though Laura and Rosemary never made it to any gardens.


End file.
